Final Stand
by Cornuthaum
Summary: 40k - They are the Space Marines of the Imperium. They know no fear, for they are the bulwark against terror, they are death incarnate to the heretic, the mutant, the unclean. For them, there is only duty. But sometimes, even these champions die.


We are being overrun. I know it in my bones, from centuries of experience.

We are being overrun, and there is no retreat, there is no surrender.

We are being overrun, but we are Space Marines. We know no fear. We will stand, we will fight, we will kill and we will die.

But with every minute we hold out, more freighters are loaded and ready. The people of Kolchadon will escape and continue to serve our God-Emperor. And that is what it is all about.

The demons that have invaded this world crave only two things: Skulls and blood.

They are servants of the great enemy, the vile god of blood, skulls and murder. Khorne.

To even think that name hurts. I have seen too many atrocities commited in the name of that horrible being to not hate him with all the fury a Space Marine can muster.

And we can be really furious.

Their chanting has started. The clouds go red.

Again.

They pervert nature in unimaginable ways. The soft rain of this world reddens and becomes as blood. The favourite sustenance of their demonic foot-soldiers. This is what it comes down to.

No crazed, mutilated cultists. No armored Chaos Knights. No Chaos Marines.

No.

The Warp itself will belch forth its minions to slay us. Ha! Fools. Does their master think we are scared?

They use slaves - captured citizens of the Imperium, tortured into insanity, flayed and bleeding - impaled on horrifying barbed stakes as conduits for those abyssal creatures.

Yes, it has begun. We have seen it often enough - too many times, unable to save these poor souls - during the desperate, losing battles on this blood-soaked planet.

Red light shines brilliantly from every orifice of the sacrifices as they begin to twitch and shudder and their screams of anguish are nothing compared to the screams of their souls as the demons slowly devour them and take over.

My battle-brothers ready their weapons. Our bolters are loaded, our chainswords are ready. Our minds are as one in our duty to the Emperor as Chaplain Cassius leads what will be our last prayer.

And then the moment where the demonic hordes are unleashed is upon us.

They have taken over their hosts and come at us in a full sprint, their giant swords drawn, cloven-hoofed feet sinking into the muddy, blood-soaked earth with every leap.

There is nothing on their minds but death, beheading and bloodletting.

But they will pay tenfold for every skull they take.

And then there is no more time to think. My bolter jerks in my hand as I shoot one of the Demons into the head point-blank, fragments of its exploding head throwing off my aim.

I duck, whirl, slash, stab and shoot and only in my peripheral vision do I see what happens to my Battle-Brothers.

There goes Fantus, gentle, friendly Fantus. Screaming the Canticle of Defiance at the top of his remaining lung - I recognize that the other two must have torn when that sword skewered him - he is buried beneath a frenzied pile of claws, teeth and blades.

I take the head of another Bloodletter, using the momentum of my force sword to sever the arm of a gibbering monstrosity and carve a bloody gash into its chest.

A pained grunt makes me whirl around and I see Cassius, our stern and wise Chaplain, fall to his knees, several blades of varying sizes sticking in his body.

I jump past him, slapping aside the first sword aimed at my brother, causing it to strike one of the demons fighting beside the attacker. I block two more strikes - God-Emperor, how fast those vile creatures are! - and empty my last Bolt magazine into the demons, giving myself and the chaplain some breathing space, at least for a few, precious seconds.

There is no time for words. I pull him to his feet and help him pull out the biggest blade - the one that had pinned his sword arm to his torso.

We fight on, and on, and on. My brothers fall beside me. Antillus. Valerius. Aurius. Leo. Quintus. Venturis. Gaius.

Friends of decades. Brothers of centuries. My soldiers.

The last few remainders of my Company are being butchered, and there is nothing they or I could have done to prevent it.

But we are Space Marines. We know no fear. We know our duty.

We will fight and die so that others may live to avenge us.

And then, the demons fall still around me. Barely restrained bloodlust burns in their eyes, and I wonder why.

And then the monstrosity appears before me.

A toad-like demon, all pasty-white skin and malice, sitting in a giant bucket of blood. Slaves carry him, and slaves pour the blood that they scoop into their huge ladles all over him

It is disgusting to watch. Sickening. It fills me with the anger that is so holy to me and all who serve Him.

The demon sneers at me. Taunts me. Insults me. Promises me a horrifying death to celebrate the Despoiling of Kolchadon.

And then he is upon me, swinging a daemon-possessed mace that shrieks with the voices of the souls of those it has slain before me.

But I fight on.

I will die. There is no avoiding it. Already I am gravely wounded , my power armor is heavily damaged, I have no more Bolt shells, and even my superhuman body grows tired.

But I have said my goodbyes. I have chosen this path of service to the Emperor.

I have lived the best life I could have imagined.

And as the giant mace caves in my chest, pulping one heart and rupturing the other, the last thing I see is my beloved Emperor and his son, my Primarch, watching over the departing freighter-fleet that carries nine-hundred million Emperor-loving citizens of Kolchadon II.

I die content.


End file.
